David Lynch vs. the Twin Peaks Revival: When Hollywood Negotiates in Public

The surrealist balked at Showtime's lowballing—but could he still return?

In October 2014, Showtime announced a plan to revive David Lynch and Mark Frost's 25-year-old mystery series for a limited run. The seismic proposition rattled the Internet like the death of Laura Palmer. There was hope, there was fervor, there were questions. Showtime fanned the flame, releasing a teaser that countered skeptics. This was happening. Lynch and Frost were back. Star Kyle MacLachlan was back. Fans eagerly marked their 2016 iCals.

But not everything was as it seemed.

The clues were right in front of us. Last month, writer-director David Lynch told an Australian art gallery audience that there were "complications" in his negotiations with Showtime. "I haven't returned yet," he told a local news outlet. "And [Showtime and I are] still working on the contract. But I love the world of Twin Peaks and I love those characters. And I think it will be very special to go back into that world." So… Showtime touted the return of a cult favorite before locking down the show's auteurist mastermind? Or was Lynch suddenly playing hardball?

Lynch cleared up the situation late Sunday night. And by cleared up, we mean killed our enthusiasm while raising a hundred more questions.

Showtime reacted to Lynch's Twitter broadcast with an official statement: "We were saddened to read David Lynch's statement today since we believed we were working towards solutions with David and his reps on the few remaining deal points. Showtime also loves the world of Twin Peaks and we continue to hold out hope that we can bring it back in all its glory with both of its extraordinary creators, David Lynch and Mark Frost, at its helm."

From the initial revival announcement to Sunday night's placating reaction, Showtime maintained a sentiment shared by fans: Lynch is Twin Peaks. Evolving from the dreamy noirscapes of his magnum opus, Blue Velvet, the show poured out of the director as he collaborated with Frost. Before the Internet exalted True Detective's single-vision Season 1, Lynch grafted film director sensibilities to the small screen. He found Twin Peaks on set, nurturing discoveries into mythological pillars and injecting network television with his personal brand of weird. His reflections on soundscape engineering and transcendental meditation aren't too far off from Log Lady's more eccentric monologues. There's a reason that in Season 2, Lynch threw in the towel and became a character on the show.

Lynch's synonymity with Twin Peaks put him in a prime bargaining position. There are logical reasons for Showtime to lowball Lynch: Twin Peaks is a quarter-century old, cult audiences don't have a great track record (see: Serenity), and the director was all but retired from filmmaking when Twin Peaks 2016 took shape (his last film was 2006's arthouse-friendly Inland Empire). But the network made promises. Scripts were written. Lynch talked up the project whenever he appeared in front of audiences. This was his baby, reborn. While he "pulled the plug" on Twitter, industry reporters see it as a strategic move. Now, if Showtime moves forward with Twin Peaks, the only way to draw back the built-in audience is to appease the creator. Lynch played dirty in the name of art (and a paycheck). Why not? They need him.

Hollywood's savviest talent rally the Internet troops to get ahead. What once was relegated to insider reporting is now viral gossip. Lynch is an experimental filmmaker with a knack for social media. He knows how to game the system, throwing Showtime to a pack of 2 million Twitter wolves. He follows in the footsteps of true masters like Robert Downey, who has never seen a press opportunity he couldn't flip into a negotiation for an upcoming Iron Man movie. Watch as an Ellen Show appearance for his future flop, The Judge,into his bid for a fourth Iron Man movie:

The returns have public negotiating have sparked stars big and small to leak their financial struggles into the social slipstream. Though they let trade papers do the talking, continued TV hooplah surrounding cast-dependent sitcoms like The Simpsons and Modern Family are intended to rile up fans. Same goes for Fifty Shades of Grey, whose sequel dealmaking entered the spotlight immediately after the film's first-weekend success (Dakota Johnson and Jamie Doran only made $250,000 and want seven-figure raises, apparently). Occasionally, these out-in-the-open negotiations sprout up as a form of justice; after Sony Pictures' 2014 hack, Charlize Theron discovered that her Snow White and the Huntsman costar Chris Hemsworth was making more for the sequel. With the Internet behind her, Charlize took advantage in the name of income equality and earned herself a raise. Wrangling public support has become so common, even lesser-known actors are jumping on the trend. Last summer, the voice actor behind Thomas the Tank Enginewrote an open letter explaining that he was quitting the popular animated series over money. "The terms they are offering are so poor, and this with the immense success of Thomas, that the only right thing for me to do is walk away," he told onlookers.

We'll admit it: By recognizing Lynch's tweets we're complicit in his boorish public negotiating. This is the new stage of fandom. Today creators spark interest in their work through social rah-rahing and rally behind even the most casual TV reboot tournament as a way of stoking the fire. Lynch strong-arming Showtime into creative and budgetary freedom, or any famous face taking to Twitter to stir up trouble, is a continuation of the same trend. We have no idea what a new Twin Peaks will look like, we just want to see whatever the hell Lynch is imagining. Even if it means subtweeting.

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